


Tele-Hooker

by Spycethra, WickedIntentions



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anonymous Sex, Asshole!Jack, Asshole!Timothy, Competitive Threesome, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Eventual Degradation, Eventual Smut, Jealousy, Light BDSM, M/M, Pining, Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Telemarketer!Rhys, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spycethra/pseuds/Spycethra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedIntentions/pseuds/WickedIntentions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys is a conservative telemarketer whose only worries revolve around meeting his quota and avoiding his menacing rival.</p><p>There were a few things he never expected would happen: that he would engage in a series of lewd phone calls with a stranger, meet said stranger for blind sex, or one day start questioning his own self-worth as a result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Handsome Imposter

Rhys was paranoid, turning at every little sound within the vicinity of his cubicle, which was a feat. Sales department wasn’t exactly the most important or dangerous, but there was someone that was.

And that someone was Hugo Vasquez.

Rhys had made the almost career-crippling mistake of challenging the older man’s authority when he had a few drinks too many and openly sassed the known ass-kisser in front of everyone at the last company party. What could he say? His pompous rival had ground at Rhys’s every last nerve that night, but now it seemed Vasquez was out for blood. Which may have been understandable, had he not already gotten it as he and Rhys were alone in the elevator.

Rhys gently touched his face, feeling the dried scab around his nose.

 _Always_ the face.

He tried to keep from picking at his swollen lip as he debated doing reports or just getting his list of calls over with. If he did the reports, he’d have to route them around... and he really didn’t want to leave his cubicle if he didn’t have to, considering the sad state of his face.

Eyeing the calling list, Rhys tried to ignore the feeling of impending dread from the bright pink sticky note atop the clipboard.

_‘Have fun with the last calls you’ll ever be making in your career, Rhys._

_\- Vasquez’_

If that wasn’t ruthlessly ominous, Rhys wasn’t sure what was. Tentatively, he lifted the clipboard to his face after having tossed away the threatening note. Well, it seemed normal enough. Maybe Vasquez was just trying to psyche him out.

Whatever it was, the cybernetic man didn’t have the time for it as he carefully placed on his headset, still paranoid that Vasquez may have tampered with it.

“All right. So far, so good,” Rhys murmured to himself encouragingly as he opened to the company’s main catalog on his computer for quick referencing products during his calls.

The first few calls had been miss after miss, as were the next few after. Some people didn’t even bother to pick up, which was normal, but Rhys had gone through a dozen numbers by now. Something wasn’t right.

Checking the ‘Do Not Call’ list on a hunch, Rhys was struck with dismay to find that Vasquez had fucked him. None of the numbers were authorized, and he’d just gone and called several of them.

About to bury his face in his hands in exasperation with how this day could get any worse, his gaze honed in on a lone number midst the group that wasn’t on the prohibited list. Did Vasquez miss this one? He narrowed his eyes. It could be a trap.

But the sight of the mystery number still intrigued him. Shrugging as he input it within the system, Rhys already figured he was screwed anyway thanks to the other dozen calls that didn’t count. As it rang, he cringed, stuck on the possibility of not being able to hang out with Vaughn and Yvette after work in order to meet his quota for the day, but without a proper calling list, that was probably going to take all night.

“The hell d’ya want?” abruptly came the irate voice on the other end of the line.

Rhys strained a smile, already sure this was going to be a tough sell. He didn’t even have a name to familiarize himself with. “Good morning! How are you today?”

“Peachy. Now I’ll ask again, the _hell_ d’ya want?”

Customer hostility wasn’t anything new to the salesman, so Rhys casually spun his pen between his fingers.

“I’m calling to see if perhaps there are any equipment or devices in your household that you might be currently dissatisfied with. If so, I’d be very glad to assist you with transitioning to Hyperion-grade hardware,” he explained in his best neutralizing voice.

There was a brief silence, followed with an incredulous, “...Is this some kind of joke?”

“Only if you think you can last another minute without a little Hyperion technological advancement in your life.”

“Do you realize who you’re talkin’ to?” the masculine voice demanded.

“I very well might, had you introduced yourself,” Rhys snipped a little, yet still managed to maintain his cordial tone.

“Well, allow me to enlighten ya, kiddo. This is _Handsome Jack_. Otherwise known as the goddamn **CEO** of the very company _you_ work for.”

Now it was Rhys’s turn to go quiet. It certainly sounded like Jack, but there was simply no way. Furthermore, plenty of people could get a voice modulator these days. Hell, Hyperion even sold them.

“Yeah, right. And I’m Mr. Ten Million Dollars.” Rhys yawned, unimpressed. “So who are you _really_?”

A tense silence built on the line. This guy must’ve been used to tricking amateurs, but Rhys was a pro. He’d know immediately if he was actually talking to Handsome Jack.

“Are you _serious_ right now?”

A little danger tinged the Jack-like voice, but Rhys remained unperturbed as he tapped his pen against his memo pad. “I’m pretty sure Handsome Jack is far too busy a man to be answering phone calls from telemarketers. Especially from the ones who work for him.”

As more silence hit the line, Rhys predicted the call was just going to end up another failed sales attempt—not that he was even trying anymore.

“Well,” another pause, “I guess ya got me. Sounds like you know a lot more about Handsome Jack than I do.”

Rhys scoffed, drumming his fingers against his cheek with a vapid look on his face. “Uh. Duh. I’m a huge fan of his.”

“Oh? Like, how huge? Like, you know everything about him and worship the very earth he walks on? Or are ya gettin’ aroused just by hearin’ this sexy voice?”

Rhys was floored by the gall of this guy, but... he wasn’t wrong. A tinge of pink warmed his cheeks, as well as the tips of his ears, at having his obsession caught so easily. But it wasn’t like he was the only one that found Jack attractive.

But he might have been the only idiot that still blushed over it.

“I... I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir. Look, you obviously aren’t interested in buying—”

The peculiar customer silenced the telemarketer by tutting his tongue. “No, Rhysie. Can I call you ‘Rhysie’? I’ll be buyin’ something, but’cha just gotta _entertain_ me for a little awhile. Sound good, cupcake?”

Rhys sourly doubted the honesty in the pretender’s words but knew that he was still left with no other alternative. “Yes, sir,” he conceded dejectedly as he rested the side of his face against his hand.

He had a terrible feeling that this was going to be an unbearably long conversation.

“So you never answered my question.”

“What question?” Rhys knew the damn question. He just really didn’t want to veer back into it.

“You know the one!” the fake Jack teased excitedly, voice raised, before suddenly lowering to a sensual timbre. “What does this voice do to you, sweetheart?”

The telemarketer’s eyes widened profoundly as a shiver traced his spine, tingling straight down to—

He jolted sharply at the sound of carefree laughter from the adjacent cubicle to his left. The last thing Rhys needed was some Handsome Jack wannabe turning him into some sort of human resources incident.

“I’m at work,” he pleaded, no longer under the illusion that he could play dumb for much longer.

This guy had an impressive Handsome Jack impression. It was almost as if he were chatting with the real one, but that was beyond impossible. Besides, Rhys prided in himself in his ability to tell the difference.

“ _Ohhh_ , believe me, I know,” the stranger reassured him with what Rhys imagined to be an unseen lick of his lips, “but I just wanna play awhile.”

The way he emphasized ‘play’ made Rhys’s throat tight. He bit his lower lip in desire, picturing this unknown stranger with Jack’s face.

“Why do you even care? I’m just some guy trying to sell you Hyperion-grade hardware,” the telemarketer replied, uncertain of what kind of reply he was actually hoping for from the stranger at this point.

It was hard to shake his slight excitement.

“Uh, hello? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Well, not really. I’ll probably just start firin’ people from boredom. Think you can bear the weight of that on your conscience, kiddo?”

Rhys felt a little twisted for smiling. That definitely sounded like their notorious overlord. Not that it was, but... would it hurt to pretend? “As if.”

“There we go! That’s the kind of compromise I’m talkin’ about!”

“I’m pretty sure both sides have to give up something in order for it to be a compromise.”

“All righty, then. I’m a reasonable boss, so let’s talk compromise.” The smirk was audible in his tone. “Obviously, this voice does something for ya, and obviously, I’m a generous, attractive guy with some free time. Tell me what you’re into, and I’ll work something out.”

Maybe Rhys was being a little coy when his voice dropped in volume to a whisper. Or maybe he was worried about his question being taken out of context by a passerby—or, rather, taken _in context_ because he was quickly nearing extremely inappropriate conduct that could end in his termination. “What I’m… ‘into’?”

“You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Are you a freak who gets off on bein’ called a slut who hungers for Handsome Jack’s dick...” he paused, allowing Rhys’s hitch in breathing to punctuate the moment, before continuing alluringly, “…or do you want to be praised for bein’ his good little boy? ‘Cause trust me, kitten, I’m likin’ the sound of both of ‘em.”

“I…” How could Rhys say it out loud with his coworkers bustling around him? The words were stuck in his throat, and they refused to budge. As excited as he was by the way this man’s voice caressed his senses with the lewd words, he was still stubbornly clinging to his sense of propriety. He had never done something like this during work before, priding himself on being a responsible worker, and even outside of work, his experience with phone sex was minuscule. Thus, he found himself shying away. “…I can’t.”

“C’mon,” he encouraged, “you can keep your voice down, can’t’cha? Hey, we can even make a game out of it. Just imagine you’re folded over my desk here… with your face buried between these two stacks of folders that I’ve been neglectin’ to deal with. And meanwhile, I’m grindin’ my huge friggin’ bulge against your ass and askin’ you if you’re my slut or my good boy. And your muffled answer is…?”

Caught between disbelief and arousal, Rhys choked on his laughter in an odd, strangled noise. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a man and woman lingering just outside his cubicle where the water cooler inconveniently was, shooting him curious glances due to his exaggerated reaction. He wracked his brain for a moment for something to say, and his eyes wandered and landed on his computer screen, which was still open to Hyperion’s main web page. “G-good one, sir. …Now, if I may direct you to some of our satisfied customers’ reviews, you’ll see that, more often than not, our hard drives are chosen over the competitors’ for their unrivaled durability and price per gigabyte.”

“I’ve got a hard drive for ya,” he purred in Rhys’s ear, his amusement clear his voice.

“And if you’re looking for speed, our SSDs will boot anything up in a fraction of the time as our HDDs,” he added, slightly louder, as if he hadn’t said anything.

“Nah, I wanna take my time and really _feel it_ goin’ through. Nice and slow… and _hot_.” His lips wrapped sensually around each word, tasting them, and he emphasized the final syllable with a click of his teeth that had the telemarketer subconsciously imagining what his mouth looked like.

Rhys bit down on his fist, and a quick glance confirmed that his observers had moved on, hopefully unconcerned with what appeared to be, on the outside, a normal sales call. The man’s husky voice was quickly arousing him to the point that if someone came by to speak to him, he would be in a lot of trouble. It was no longer something he could adjust his pants around and hope for the best.

“We both know you’re a busy boy,” the attractive voice remarked with a coy lilt, “and that you can’t hang up on me until I let’cha. So how about we get this outta the way before ya get way behind on your quota? It was a simple question.”

“I’m… I’m Handsome Jack’s good boy,” the younger man murmured reluctantly, his face and neck heating up with embarrassment as the incriminating words passed his lips. He sank down in his seat and picked at the hem of his buttoned-down shirt like a chastised schoolboy. A hum of approval was his reward, and he greedily relished it.

“Are you hard for me right now?”

“Yeah...” he admitted breathily.

“Give and take, Rhysie. Think of your customer’s needs,” he scolded. “I can’t do shit with, ‘Yeah.’”

“I-I’m hard,” he whispered like it was a secret. “Your voice, um, makes me hard...”

“Attaboy,” he praised, igniting a curl of heat in Rhys’s abdomen. “It’s a start, at least. And I’d tell you to touch yourself, but you’d probably get your ass fired in the process. Just a hunch, but, uh, are you a moaner? ‘Cause you totally sound like one.”

“I dunno,” he admitted pitifully, unwilling to elaborate. His hand dropped to his thigh, and his fingers flexed. At this point, he wanted to flee to the restroom and take care of his jutting problem, but he didn’t want to risk anyone seeing it on his way. He still had to work with these people, after all, and he wanted to be able to look them in the eyes occasionally.

“…Although, you _should_ get fired,” he continued in a cruel taunt, which sent Rhys slightly on the defensive. “I’m not payin’ you to jerk off.”

“You’re not paying me at all,” he retorted with a hint of sarcasm. He had been swiftly brought back to the present, as the time in the corner of his computer monitor informed him that he had spent twice as much time than was necessary to make or break a sale. “You haven’t bought anything yet.”

“And you’ve been sweet-talkin’ me this whole time.” The pretender made a noise of disappointment at the back of his throat. “Maybe I should be the one sellin’ to you. You sound just about ready to accept anything I have to offer. Heh. All right, all right, let’s try this. How ‘bout’cha beg me a little bit?”

“Someone is gonna notice,” Rhys deflected, chewing on his lower lip anxiously. He was straining his ears through the chatter of the office for approaching footsteps. Hopefully nobody else was thirsty—although _he_ was certainly feeling it, he thought glumly to himself, hopelessly lost in his desire for the man on the other end of the phone as he was.

“ **Now** , cupcake.” The tone was suddenly clipped, and the sugary sweetness it had been dripping with was strikingly absent. “I’ve been patient enough. Trust me when I say I can keep you on the phone all friggin’ night if I wanna.”

Not for the first time, he acknowledged that this guy was very convincing. The sharp edge in his voice had him sitting up straighter, as if his boss were in front of him and scrutinizing his work performance. “…Please.” His voice was quiet, barely audible even to his own ears.

“Please, _what?_ ”

He paused, contemplating what the man was looking for, before deciding to keep their game of role-play going. “Please, Handsome Jack. _Sir_.”

“Hmm. Nice try, but nope. Let’s try something else. Since you’re my good boy, you should be callin’ me ‘Daddy,’ don’t’cha think? So let’s hear it.”

At that, Rhys buried his face in one hand as if to hide from the shame of saying something so ridiculous and wildly depraved, and it was physically demanding on him to force the words out. But what choice did he have? At this point, not being able to do anything about his arousal, each new line of suggestive banter had him growing desperate to please this audibly attractive stranger. For what end, he wasn’t sure because he still had a full day of work looming ahead. He would worry about the consequences later. “Please… _Daddy_.”

Despite his heavy embarrassment, he was dismayed to realize that his interest had yet to wane, and he was still aching under the strain of his trousers. Even the fake Jack sniggering uncontrollably at his undoubtedly palpable discomfort did little to turn him off.

“Welp, this wasn’t the weirdest call I’ve ever had, but I’ll admit you’ve intrigued me,” he commented once his laughter had subsided. “As for buyin’ from ya… _Ehh_ , fine, you’ve convinced me. I definitely have my eye on something, but I’m gonna have to test it out a few more times before makin’ the sale final. If you know what I mean.”

“Uh. Um... Well…” Rhys stammered helplessly. Was this man implying they would hook up in-person? He wasn’t nearly adventurous enough for that sort of thing—preferring real relationships over one-night stands—and furthermore, he too often saw articles cross his news feed about the dangers of meeting people through the Internet. As much as he inwardly enjoyed listening to what he perceived to be Handsome Jack’s voice, he doubted he would ever hear from the stranger again after this. It was nothing more than a cheap thrill, one he would silently cherish for those lonely nights.

“Oh, you’re smooth,” he snarked in the resulting silence. “Anyway, I’ve got shit to do. It’s been fun. Ear-fuck you later, princess. Ciao.”

Grudgingly, Rhys took a few moments to compose himself and reorient himself into the correct mindset for telemarketing, tapping his fingers agitatedly against the surface of his desk. He was brimming with tension, and his mind was distracted all the while. Then a sudden thought struck him with dread.

Had the guy been a friend of Vasquez’s, and had Rhys just played into his rival’s elaborate scheme to get him fired? For all he knew, the entire call could have been recorded to use against him. He grew horrified at the realization, recalling all the things he had said. He hoped against hope that he was wrong, that it was just a coincidence that the number had been in the list Vasquez had given him. He had put a lot of work into getting to where he was. His immediate boss adored him and had hinted on more than one occasion that Rhys would be one of the first considered for a promotion.

He would worry more about that later. He had work to desperately catch up on. But first, there was someone he needed to see.

 

* * *

 

Fiona groaned while sinking further down as though she were being gradually dragged beneath her desk. She bore her aviator glasses, or day-after shades, with her bangs oddly stuffed along the sides. The sheer desperation to keep the incandescent lighting away from her sensitive pupils was very real.

“Are you, uh… all right, Fiona?” Rhys inquired quietly as he rounded her war zone of a cubicle rather slowly.

“Nngh… That dick made me come in,” his coworker grumbled stubbornly. “There’s no point. I’m already set for the whole week. But, _nooo_ , gotta do this ‘fifteen calls a day’ crap.”

She sighed openly as she shifted in her seat to hug herself all the more, feeling every assorted version of awful—mixed with unspoken regret for all the risqué decisions made the night prior. Rhys could’ve gotten into a bit of small talk as he would his customers to ease her into the deal he had in mind, but the salesman was sure that she was too adept, even in her gruesomely hungover state, to fall for it.

“...If you want,” he started, cutting straight to the chase, “I could take that off your hands.”

Fiona barely swiveled her chair in his general direction to ensure that she had heard him right.

“Huh?”

Rhys could vaguely see how her eyes scrunched with mistrust—or pain. Quite frankly, he couldn’t really tell the difference.

“And what’s in it for you?” she snipped quietly in midst of another despair-filled groan. “Gonna rat me out as soon as stroll into that elevator?”

“No,” Rhys denied lowly, feeling honestly offended that she gave him such an ill reputation while hardly knowing him. “I…”

He considered lying. He really did. But lying to a smooth talker like Fiona just didn’t seem to be in his best self-interests. Rhys took a deep breath to ready himself.

Honesty it was, then.

“ _Look_ , Vasquez screwed me on this week’s call list,” he admitted tersely while avoiding that disparaging gaze she was giving him, “And—”

Fiona’s laughter made him stop, feeling himself turning red with mortification. He decided he had made a mistake in ever coming to the woman for help. He could only relish a little in the way she winced a little at her mistake of laughing with a skull-splitting headache.

“Wow, I didn’t think Baldy had the balls,” she admitted with a slow shake of her head.

“Yeah, well…” Rhys replied with a downtrodden expression, glancing away.

Could he ask someone else? Fiona was bound to tell everyone about his embarrassing predicament anyway.

“ _Now_ I get it.”

Her tone of voice caught his attention, prompting him to look back at her.

“You need my list so you can go home at a decent hour tonight.” Her lips curled with a spot of interest, as well as satisfaction of having figured out the true intentions to his visit. They weren’t exactly friends, but they didn’t consider each other rivals either.

Rhys bit his lip. He hated being this vulnerable with people that he barely knew. The wait for her answer tugged at his fleeting hope.

“...And you won’t tell anyone I left?” She raised a scarred brow in inquiry as she analyzed every detail of his face for deception.

“Not a soul. I... I really need—”

“—’Kay. They’re yours,” Fiona replied hastily, surprising Rhys by shoving the stapled list to his chest.

She was already gathering her keys and things as she quickly explained the multicolored highlighting. “Blue are the mellow folks that’ll be a quick sell. Green’s mine, so don’t even think about it. Yellow is wishy-washy. Pink only buys from women.”

“And purple?”

“I’unno. I just like purple and highlighted ‘em. Makes it pop.”

“Right…” He had no idea Fiona was so organized, considering the trash heap that was her desk. Why didn’t he think to set up his call lists like this?

She was already midway toward the elevator when he turned abruptly to call out to her.

“Hey, Fiona! Thanks.” Rhys gestured to the pages with a thoughtful look.

The aviators hid most of her face, but he had a feeling she might’ve been happy, too, as she gave him an acknowledging chin lift before making her escape.

Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all. At least he was going to get off work on time, but that still left the auburn haired wondering what would become of the verbally handsome man he had called. Certainly it was a one-time thing, but a guy could dream, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spycethra:** Welcome, welcome to this wonderful Tele AU collab produced between Wicked and myself. It was loads of fun and there's only more yummy tasty sin to come! Eee~!  
>  Stay tuned for more, lovelies.
> 
>  **WickedIntentions:** This is the first time I've ever collaborated, and it should be an exciting journey! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.  
>  Prepare yourselves for the Rhys abuse.
> 
> -  
> Interested in chatting? You can find Spycethra on Tumblr [here](http://spycethra.tumblr.com/).


	2. The Unconventional Interview

When Rhys came into work early the next morning, yawning sleepily into his hand and waving to a few notable coworkers on his way through the sea of cubicles, he was feeling slightly better than when he left the previous evening. After a good night’s rest and a fun little evening with his friends, he had successfully pushed the incriminating phone call and the mysterious stranger to the back of his mind, where they would decay into nothingness and eventually leave him at peace.

He always took his work seriously, and yesterday was simply a fluke, a mar on an otherwise perfectly clean record of professionalism. He was confident that it wouldn’t happen again—that he wouldn’t let it happen again.

Noting that there was already a stack of papers waiting for him when he stepped into his assigned cubicle, he flopped into his wheeled desk chair and leaned down to jab at the power button on his computer tower next to his legs. It took a few long moments, but after his dinosaur of a computer finally booted up, he began to peruse the daily news, his chin cupped in one hand. His shift hadn’t officially begun yet, as usual, since he liked to arrive slightly earlier than everyone else.

His timeliness and apparent enthusiasm for work was always noted by his immediate boss, so it hadn’t taken long for him to fall into the routine of waking up slightly earlier every day. He liked to think that a promotion was well on its way, which he would humbly accept.

And rub in Vasquez’s stupid face. Oh, he couldn’t **wait**.

Breaking from his vengeful thoughts, he slid on his headset when he noticed how much time had passed, and almost immediately, he received a call from within the company. “Rhys here.”

“Rhys, you have an incoming call from a Mr. Lawrence,” stated the young woman without a hint of suspicion. “He says there’s a purchase he would like to discuss with you—the one from yesterday?”

 _Mr. Lawrence._ His heart fluttered in his chest.

Rhys quickly scrolled the news feed on his desktop to his favorite article of that morning. The web page displayed a rather tantalizing photo of Jack Lawrence, CEO of Hyperion, showcasing their latest technological breakthroughs in Abu Dhabi with that charismatic smile famous for stealing the most resilient of hearts. But after seeing the first few lines of the article, the column indicated that Jack was still halfway across the world.

So even if Jack weren’t already the untouchable top rung of the Hyperion ladder, naturally, the person on the line couldn’t be him, as far away and busy as he was. There was just no way.

Even though Rhys was so determined to prove this guy a fake, a part of him lamented solving the mystery too soon. It was fun thinking that perhaps his idol—by some crazy chance—managed to take notice of him, but real life unfortunately never worked out that way. It was probably someone else completely, and he was just getting ahead of himself. That seemed much more likely.

But if he actually calculated the time difference…

“Rhys?” the clerk asked, obviously tipped-off that something may be amiss.

His calculations would have to wait.

“Yeah, I remember him,” Rhys reassured her with his fake selling cheer. “Please put the call through.”

“You got it.”

A soft click resounded in his ear before—“Heya, kiddo,” came the far-too-delighted tone in a horribly familiar voice.

So there went his theory of the caller being someone completely different. And that he would never hear from the perverted man who sounded like the CEO of his company again. If only he could hang up right now and stop the conversation before it could take a turn for the worse, but he simply couldn’t. All he could do was hope that he could endure whatever was in store for him, remaining unscathed, because he knew immediately from the inflection of the voice that there was going to be an obstacle in what he planned as a smooth, uncomplicated work day. Consequently, Rhys fiddled with his tie nervously. “Good morning,” he greeted back politely, while uncertain what it was the peculiar customer actually wanted from him.

“Let’s play a game, shall we?” he offered to the salesman with a barely contained glee that Rhys was sure had to be coated with mischief.

Rhys sighed, sulking a little. This really wasn’t how he wanted to start his day. Hearing Jack’s voice was always nice, but he still had to make a living. Playing around on the phone with no guaranteed, set-in-stone sale waiting for him at the end was extremely detrimental to that. Deciding to avoid yesterday’s mistake, he started to decline with, “I should be working. I—”

The impersonator cut him off. “—Yeah, sure, but your call list is just another trumped-up set. Go check if ya don’t believe me.”

The telemarketer stilled before slowly reaching for his waiting pages. How would this guy know that? Did he actually know his rival? Had Vasquez honestly gone out of his way to do it again? Rhys bit his lip as worry jettisoned through his core. He couldn’t go back to Fiona again. One time was fine, but what if Vasquez decided to do this for the rest of the week? Perhaps even _longer?_

He was done for. He might as well just pack up his things and leave quietly while his dignity was still fairly intact.

“Now, now, kitten, don’t fret. Luckily for you, you have my interest, but you should know that my help doesn’t come... for free.”

The suggestiveness of the false Jack had Rhys shifting his thighs nervously, attempting to soothe away the tension gathering around his groin. First thing in the morning, and this was what he had to deal with. “How can you possibly help me?”

“Game starts now,” the impersonator replied, ignoring the question.

Rhys tensed where he sat, growing very anxious at what would come next.

“Tell me what you’re lookin’ at,” came the innocent-enough command.

“What I’m… looking at?” he repeated skeptically. He hadn’t been expecting that. What did that have to do with anything? Rhys had far more pressing issues to contend with, such as how in the world this guy knew about the numbers on his call list. But seeing as he was still held accountable by company policy to never hang up on a customer, Rhys knew he was at this man’s mercy.

“C’mon, how hard is it to describe what’s right in your face?” His tone was flaring up with irritation.

Rhys briefly thought about frustrating the guy enough to encourage him to hang up, himself, but somehow Rhys was certain it would only get worse. Eyeing his desk, he gave a weak shrug of disinterest even though he knew it couldn’t be seen. “My desk.”

“Yeah, okay. What about what’s on it? Right in front of ya. This ain’t rocket surgery.”

“My paperwork? My phone? Uh, my computer—”

“—Ah, ah! Right there. Stop right there. What’s on it?”

“On... it?”

“Kid, I _swear_. Know what? I’ll make this real simple. It’s me, isn’t it? I’m on your computer screen right now. Am I right? Just tell me I’m right. Jeezus.”

Rhys flushed scarlet.

“You’ve been lookin’ at me for a long time, haven’t ya,” he accused gently.

Rhys wasn’t sure if the fake Jack was asking him or telling him. “I… N-not for that long.”

“Awww, _kiiiid_. Don’t sell yourself short! I can see everything in that little boxed junk heap ya call a computer.”

The salesman felt his insides twist as nausea bubbled within him. This guy _hacked_ him?

Of course, it didn’t end there, as the stranger carried on talking. “Ohhh, man. I thought I saw it all, but then I saw your phone. _Mm._ **That phone**. That’s a whole separate batch of fun _,_ isn’t it?”

That was it. Rhys wanted to die. Simply disappear off the face of the earth all together. Where was a self-destruct switch when he desperately needed one?

He couldn’t believe this guy took that much effort into learning more about him. And now he knew just about every dirty little kink the tele-worker had for the handsome CEO. His phone had every raunchy known fetish that included the gorgeous entrepreneur.

And now this asshole knew all about it.

“You really like that ‘Hyperion Swimwear’ edition from two years ago, don’t’cha? Clicked on that— _ohhh—_ about 1,873 times. But who knows how long ya must’ve left that thing tabbed,” snickered the fake into his ear. “But seein’ me tied up in that simulation game, that’s a new one for me. And the cosplaying. By the way... _tentacles?_ ”

Having Handsome Jack’s voice mock him for these things made the situation a gazillion times worse. Rhys quickly ducked his burning face into his arms. He didn’t want to hear any more. This was absolutely mortifying. This creep was digging into everything about him. And for what? The cheap thrill of tormenting him with the one person he admired most and using that very person’s voice to do it.

Now he was just waiting for the impending blackmail.

“Rhysie, c’mon. Say something. This shit’s friggin’ gold.”

“I’m through talking,” Rhys snapped quietly, his amiable tone leaving him. “You said you’d help me.”

“I did say that.”

“Well, apparently you never meant it.”

“Uh, one, you’re assuming, and everyone knows the lesson in that. Two, I still am even though ya just insulted me. But it’s whatever, pumpkin. I’m used to bein’ the bigger man—if ya catch my drift.”

Rhys said nothing as he merely remained with his head down in utter shame and disappointment for ever having taken this call.

“Okay, okay. Check your desk drawer,” insisted the voice, sounding oddly elated. “Top-right.”

As sketchy as it was that this guy somehow managed to plant something in his work desk, Rhys chose to go with the flow anyway. At this point, how could it get any worse? He carefully pulled at the small metal handle while leaning back in case something terrible leapt out. The salesman could hear the fake Jack heckling him with, “Ooh, scary! Beware of the monsters, kiddo!”

But inside the drawer was no monster. It was his usual stuff, save for a really nice headset— _Hyperion-grade_. Rhys was almost too afraid to pick it up, as he knew those babies sold for nearly several grand a pop, not that the sales staff ever knew why. It seemed insanely overpriced, yet they were instructed to mention ‘hidden features’—to which certain rich folks made monetary dives to procure.

As for what those hidden features were, only the buyers seemed to know.

“...Th-this...”

“I know ya recognize it. By the way, ya might wanna pick up your jaw before ya start droolin’ on it. Like hell if I’m gettin’ you another one.”

“This is…”

“ _Yes._ God. It’s yours, dumb-dumb. I bought it from ya.”

Rhys had to hold his jaw up with his hand as his brain tried to remember the exact amount of commission a person received from selling one of them. Needless to say, his selling quota for the week was definitely hit.

“Th… that’s a…” It was a _lot_ of money this guy just deliberately dumped at his feet.

“Yeah, yeah. Put it on already. Don’t worry ‘bout the settings. I already had that taken care of. But like I said, my help doesn’t come _gratis_. Now get that fine ass up and walk it to the elevator.”

The man abruptly hung up, and Rhys was left to either obey his orders or try to carry on with his work. It wasn’t as if the stranger could see him, but… he did need new phone numbers. And that earpiece looked incredible. Only the best sales reps ever managed to get them.

Stuffing the little black device into one ear, Rhys wondered what the impersonator had in mind for him. He had no time to ponder that because the second it switched on, he was greeted with that familiar voice once again.

“About friggin’ time. Now, riddle me this: Why aren’t you in the elevator?”

“I am?” Rhys lied. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to actually leave if he just played along.

“Oh, okay. That’s real cute; you think I can’t see ya. Well, news flash! I’ve got **all** the security cameras trained on ya right now.”

That was a shock to his system, to say the least. Growing uneasy, Rhys tried to subtly seek said cameras out, never having realized that his department was equipped with them.

“And then he looks left! And then he looks right!” False Jack cackled into the phone as he narrated Rhys’s movements in real time. “Ooh, but now he’s sittin’ still. Straightenin’ up. Go ahead, fiddle with that tie. No? What’s wrong, Rhysie? Not used to someone givin’ you attention?”

Rhys was terrified by how the man on the other end of the line caught his every action, yet he remained oh-so disturbingly aroused by it. He felt the heat trapped in his shirt, which caused him to tug at his collar.

An amused chuckle bounced through the line as his voyeur noticed the small motion. “You’re too damn precious _._ What’s the matter? Collar too tight?”

“N-no.” Rhys started to stand up, feeling the elevator his only true escape now before his coworkers realized something was amiss.

“Look at’cha! You’re shakin’ like a leaf!”

Ignoring the other’s taunts, Rhys briskly made his way for the elevator.

The contraption seemed normal enough as he stepped inside. It was right beside the one he normally took to arrive on his floor, yet the pretender insisted he take this one instead. The doors shut behind him a little faster than usual and the buttons lost their usual illumination.

“Uh…” Rhys steadied himself against the side rail as the elevator proceeded to move on its own, heading up.

“Calm the hell down. It’s just me.”

“...Just you?” The thought turned him on slightly, but he was too afraid for his future to really enjoy it. “You’re controlling the elevator.”

“I just said that, numb nuts. Hey, get away from that corner. It’s harder to see ya from there.”

Rhys raised his head to see the hidden camera behind a thin pane of glass. He swallowed grimly. What did he have in mind?

Suddenly, the elevator halted in place, but the doors failed to open. Rhys wasn’t even sure which floor he was on at this point, but he had a feeling that his location wasn’t important for whatever the stranger had in store for him.

“And here’s our stop. The ultimate privacy,” he declared excitedly as the camera panned directly toward Rhys. “Ready for the biggest interview of your life?”

He arched his eyebrows. That certainly wasn’t in the list of things going through his mind of what could happen while trapped in an elevator. “Wha—interview? Interview for what?”

“Welp, I said I was gonna, ya know, try out the goods a few more times before makin’ my sale final. Yesterday was only a peek, but this time…” he trailed off and snickered, “ _this time_ , we’re gonna go on a little test drive. Ya with me so far?”

“Not really,” Rhys admitted, glancing about the enclosed space nervously.

“You’ll get it. And if ya don’t… Ehh, you know what? Just follow my orders. If you can manage at least that, I know I’m gonna enjoy myself.” With that, the obvious sounds of a belt buckle and zipper being tended to were sudden and remarkably loud through the headset.

But nothing was as loud as the jarring realization bouncing within Rhys’s mind that his voyeur was taking his cock out to the sight of him, and he suddenly knew exactly what those orders were going to be, especially when a long, pleasured sigh filled his ear. As for how he felt about actually going through with it, he was stuck between embarrassment and arousal, similar to how he felt during the phone call yesterday. Only, this time, he wasn’t a faceless person through a telephone, which granted a small degree of anonymity. This time, every twitch in his expression or tensing of his muscles was captured by something that never blinked.

It was devious, sinful, **lewd**. He wasn’t like that—he knew he wasn’t. He had never before been in a situation even remotely close to this one. ...So why was his body agreeing with the situation in the form of a slight bulge in his trousers?

“All right,” the voice huffed. “I’m ready. Let’s get this started. Take that shirt off, and make it good. I’m still your customer, and I’m gonna get everything I’m payin’ for. Got it? Good. Now, sell yourself.”

He wanted to argue that he wasn’t for sale, but an argument would lead to more wasted time. While he was standing there in the elevator, his work day was ticking away, and he knew he wasn’t clocked out on break. If someone came by his cubicle and noticed his unexplained absence, nothing good would come of it. There was nothing he could do to get out of the elevator, as hopelessly trapped as he was. He didn’t have a choice.

Consequently, moments later, Rhys found himself shivering slightly under the ventilation as the cool air caressed his partially bare chest, unable to believe he was going through with this. The imposter had him slowly unbutton his shirt, and now he had no choice but to stand there, vulnerable as can be, while hearing crystal-clear sounds of a well-lubricated cock being tended to in his ear, each pump emitting an exaggerated, slick sound. The camera was trained on him the entire time. Rhys couldn’t bring himself to look directly at it, as mortified as he was.

“Come on. This is your interview, babe. Show me what’cha got.”

The salesman swallowed dryly. He had no idea what he was doing. A strip tease was one thing, but showing almost everything? What if this guy decided to restart the elevator? He’d be more than just fired—he’d be incarcerated for public indecency.

“Handsome Jack’s watchin’. What do ya want him to see? You standin’ there like a useless stick or showin’ off what kind of naughty bits you’re hidin’?”

Honestly, Rhys didn’t want his idol to see anything, and hopefully he never would. Chewing on his lower lip, Rhys nonetheless slid his hands down his torso before pausing just over his belt. He could hear the caller’s breath hitch, as well, which gave him the courage he needed to undo the clasp.

“There we go. Keep goin’… Show Handsome Jack how just how hot he makes ya.”

Trembling fingers gradually unzipped the front of his pants as he shut his eyes and shoved all the obstructing fabric down to just his mid-thigh. The employee shivered again as his pre-cum became cold at the tip.

“ _Mmm_. That’s an impressive tool ya have there. Take a good hold of it, why don’t’cha?”

Wrapping his fingers around his member, Rhys sighed with relief and quickly began stroking it with need.

“Ah, ah, ah! _Slowly_ , Rhys, unless ya want me to restart this elevator. Your call.”

Damn, he had forgotten all about that once he had become the customer’s private peep show. Incidentally, it affected his entire mental state so that, even when he did regain control to pump himself as he pleased, he simply couldn’t finish. His breathing was fast as he stroked himself as he would have in privacy, but he was far from close to coming as the minutes passed.

“Nearly there?” he prompted huskily, punctuating it with a wet-sounding stroke through the earpiece.

“I can’t,” Rhys admitted shamefully. Each additional stroke felt like an impending failure, and his erection slowly wilted as a result. “I’m too nervous.”

The long sigh on the line broke his heart—he felt he had actually disappointed his biggest crush.

“Rhys, lemme tell ya something. You wanna get ahead in life? You wanna be more than what you’re livin’ now with that mind-numbing nine-to-five shit? Then you gotta break the mold. Do something no one else would. But when ya do—and pay attention because this is important…”

Rhys struggled to calm down as he listened intently. Was this guy really just a copy? He really didn’t want to think so at this point. The thought of getting a pep talk from his idol in order to finish himself in a stalled elevator was way more satisfying than any of his fantasies have ever been.

“...Ya gotta commit. I can take ya places. I just gotta see that level of commitment.”

The way Jack’s voice mentioned taking him places had Rhys growing hard all over again. He wanted that voice to take him _everywhere._

“Still with me?”

Rhys nodded quickly while tight-lipped, stroking himself with more vigor. His tension was slowly easing away, and he found that he wasn’t nearly as shy as when they first started. “ _Jack_ … It’s feeling really good. I’m not… I’m—”

“—Shhh. This is the best part. Lift those hips a little more and shift that hand a little. Lemme see exactly how the thought of me makes a cute thing like you scream my name.”

The auburn-haired employee unthinkingly complied to his idol’s demands, eyeing the lone security camera hazily.

“Jack…” Rhys whispered, closing his eyes again, while imagining it was the CEO jacking him off. It was damn close, considering all the lewd things that controlling voice whispered lustfully in his ear to further coax the arrival of his climax. He was utterly lost in his fantasy.

“That’s it…”

“Please,” pleaded the half-naked man pitifully. He just needed something to send him over the last little bit. “Help… I’m so, _so_ close.”

“Perfect. All right. I said I’d help ya, and I will. But, uh, _damn_ , if you could see what I’m seein’ right now…”

“ _Jack_.”

“Ready to show Handsome Jack your commitment?”

“Y-yes.”

“I know you’re totally picturin’ me jerkin’ ya off right now. But do ya really think I’d do it like that?”

Rhys’s hand slowed as his already flushed face worsened in shade. He wasn’t sure how much more he could endure.

“I want you to take yourself as you know for _damn_ _sure_ how **I** would.”

After pausing a moment in consideration, he sped up his pace, dragging the skin along his stiff cock and pumping it desperately. His wrist began to throb with pain at how ferocious he suddenly became with his length, never having been so relentless in his masturbation in his entire life. It was strangely liberating, and Rhys felt his mental block melt away, leaving him encompassed in his bliss.

“Attaboy!” the caller shouted enthusiastically into his earpiece, but Rhys didn’t flinch away from the abrupt noise.

He was right there. Over and over, he kept calling out to the other man. He was at the precipice, his toes curling—

“Now, Rhysie, be a good boy and _commit_.”

As if hypnotized by the command, Rhys felt his body go rigid, his back slamming into the nearest wall, as he came in a generous arc of hot white onto the floor.

“Jaaack! Jack, _Jack!_ ” Rhys cried out euphorically, tears of pleasure forming as he quaked with ecstasy for his voyeur.

“Good boy,” the man drawled with satisfaction. “I knew you could do it.”

Rhys shuddered as he pumped away the remnants of his essence on the ground at his feet. It felt so amazing that he wasn’t quite sure he cared who found his cum puddle anymore—something that would undoubtedly change once the last of his orgasmic high faded away. But that was beside the point.

“Look at that. There’s quite a bit there.” He paused before continuing far too casually, “So… ya single?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spycethra:** Thanks for the support you guys left us!  
>  Wicked wrote all of this chapter. I stake no claim.
> 
>  **WickedIntentions:** Wha—no, Spy wrote all of this chapter.  
>  *innocent smile*  
> Either way, thanks a lot for your comments! We loved reading them all.  
> We also loved all the kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions!  
> Hope you enjoyed what you read and look forward to more.
> 
> -  
> Interested in chatting? You can find Spycethra on Tumblr [here](http://spycethra.tumblr.com/).


	3. The Phantom Fapper

“S-single?” Rhys stammered, reeling from the abrupt change in tone. With his orgasm faded into a startling nothingness, he became self-consciously aware of his partial nudity and hurriedly tucked himself back into his pants, zipping and buttoning them. All the while, he was unwilling to look down at the mess he had made, content to pretend it didn’t exist instead. He attempted to sound casual as he continued, “Uh… why? Why do you ask?”

A wry chuckle greeted him, doing little to enlighten him.

“‘ _Why do you ask?_ ’” the other man mimicked in what sounded like an awkward rendition of the salesman’s voice but with a decidedly much higher pitch.

Rhys grimaced, feeling as if he’d made an absolute fool of himself. He willed himself to calm down as his fingers struggled in the suddenly complex task of buttoning his shirt back up. His hands were shaking the slightest bit, either from the cool air filtering in or from his frazzled nerves. The consequences of his most recent sexual deviance were building upon his mind and weighing him down.

“Kid. Look at’cha. God, where have ya  **been**?”

The employee had no idea whether what this fake Jack was saying was positive or negative as he finally conquered the second button of his shirt. Instead, he nervously eyed the security camera that seemed to adjust its zoom on him every moment or so. Recalling that there was an unanswered question hovering in the air, he wondered if it was rhetorical or not. He decided he would rather fill the silence either way and replied with an audible degree of uncertainty, “...Here?”

“Really, cupcake?”

Rhys really wished this guy would stop assuming that he understood his private and admittedly confounding thought processes. His mind returned to his task dutifully. Okay, two more buttons down… with a terrible number left to go. He realized quickly that he would have to pick up the pace as the elevator abruptly jolted back to life, the cable lines slowly descending him back to real life.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll spell it out for ya. Jeezus. Are you…  _seein’_  anyone… at present?” the pretender repeated with a slight tension in his voice, enunciating the syllables. “Is the shop, ya know,  _open for business?_ ”

Rhys might have cared more had he not already been scurrying to at least seem modestly presentable to his coworkers’ eyes. He just quietly prayed this guy wasn’t so much of an asshole as to open up on a floor filled with semi-permanent people in his life instead of letting him take the stairs. They’d see his… No, he decided to ignore it again. “I’m not. I’m… I’m single,” he answered, still feeling rather out of his element due to the personal question from a stranger, especially one who sounded remarkably like his unapproachable boss.

“All right, good. That’s, uh, good...”

“O- _kaaay_ ,” Rhys replied uncertainly as he fixed his tie around his neck just to occupy his hands. He noticed the lens specifically zoomed in on the motion as he adjusted the cloth. It was a little unnerving, but he figured it wouldn’t be wise to irk the guy in control of the elevator’s speed.

“Keep it that way. From this point on, you’re reserved. By me. Understood, kiddo?” the fake Jack ordered, which sounded… very much like something the real one would say—authoritative and, despite the inflection suggesting a question, inviting zero discussion, as if his will was absolute.

And, to be honest, within the confines of the company of Hyperion and countless social scenes within the city, and in many ways, it was.

Rhys wasn’t sure if this was all for the sake of an insane role-play or if perhaps…  _No, it couldn’t be,_ he dismissed sharply. That sort of thing just didn’t happen to normal people, especially not like him. Nonetheless, he swallowed his unease and agreed rather submissively, playing into his role and secretly enjoying the slight thrill that came of it, “Yes, sir. I understand.”

 

* * *

 

As much as he soaked in the attention he received every time he strode through the gilded doors of Hyperion and ambled casually through the masses of peons mindlessly typing away at their keyboards and perusing spreadsheets and invoices in a cacophony of clicks and taps, he absolutely  **abhorred**  the reasoning behind it. He could feel their eyes drinking in his handsome visage, undoubtedly searching for a single flaw to mark him as one of them but, predictably, failing spectacularly. It only reinforced the fact that his newest stylist was a professional who clearly valued her position.

Each person abandoned his or her work as he glided past, with several clicks and taps stuttering before disappearing completely from the inharmonious orchestra that made up the customer service department. He held his chin arrogantly high and met nobody’s eyes. This wasn’t a day for turning on the charm, not when his mood was so disgustingly sour; not when today was a day he had to report back the week’s events to his infuriatingly egotistical twin brother—his boss—with whom he shared a face and resented that fact each and every day.

Timothy Lawrence, exorbitantly paid doppelgänger for the infamous Jack Lawrence, held his contempt at bay, at least outwardly, as he smoothly sidestepped employees on his way toward the elevators against the back wall and inclined his head slightly at their stammered, reverent greetings.

It wasn’t that he hated being visually attractive. On the contrary, he would have it no other way. It definitely had its multitude of delicious perks, and he enjoyed each and every one frequently. In actuality, the reason he despised it so was because it was essentially a searing brand of servitude to his identical twin.

Brothers always fight to surpass each other, with friendly intentions or otherwise, and the Lawrence twins were certainly no exception to that. What started as harmless teasing between young siblings slowly escalated, especially just over the last decade, into a ruthless race to the very top. To his continual bitter disappointment, he was the one who stumbled over the line in second place and fell to one knee in defeat.

For all intents and purposes, there was no Timothy within the pair of brothers; there was only Jack and the man who appeared identical to him. Even when he wasn’t doing his job out in public and taking care of any unsavory social functions that required Jack’s dominating presence, and even when he was dressed down comfortably in clothes with less than three layers to the outfit, he was only identified as Handsome Jack, CEO of Hyperion. The burden followed him literally everywhere.

It wasn’t the regular pair of silver elevators that he stepped into to take him to the highest point of Hyperion. They were incapable of ascending that high, stopping somewhere around the fiftieth floor. There was a golden elevator for executives and the big boss man, as well as himself, which required special privileges and an ID card to use. The ostentatious contraption was what he found himself in, arms crossed over his chest while he tapped his foot mindlessly to the catchy jazz tune that played quietly in the background during his lengthy ascent.

There was even a mini bar built into the wall, along with a comfortable pair of armchairs, in the event the wait was simply too much for the higher-ups to bear. Timothy thought it was all ridiculously tacky and unnecessary, but he couldn’t deny that he had indulged more than once, especially when a beautiful woman was doing the same. Like he said, there were perks to his position and appearance, even if he secretly seethed over it at times. Why fight it? It was much easier to accept the cocktail and shut his mouth—at least until he came face-to-face with Jack and forgot about his resolve all over again.

It was business as usual, at least in his mind, when the elevator hummed to a gentle stop and fed a line of red carpet out to soften his passing over the threshold of the sliding doors into the empty executive lobby just before Jack’s office. He slid his hands into his pockets and made his way between the carefully arranged plush couches and expensive, polished-wood end tables which complemented the dark drapes cascading richly over the floor-to-ceiling windows. He ascended a flight of stairs to the towering pair of doors which heralded the throne of the devil himself. He didn’t know why he paused this time before entering, but he did. Squaring his shoulders, he placed a hand on one of the two crystal door knobs and turned it.

“Be a good boy for me, and there’s more where that came from.”

Timothy caught the seductively murmured words just as he cracked the door open, and he paused a second, narrowing his eyes. That particular tone wasn’t something he often heard when he came to report to him, so his interest was piqued. Jack had a new plaything?

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout the mess. That’s what the janitor’s for, right?” There was a short pause before Jack continued, “I didn’t record it… You can trust me on that. Now, wiggle your cute little ass back to work. Daddy’s got shit to take care of.”

Timothy’s eyebrows shot up high on his forehead at that, and his disbelief doubled when he heard the squeak of a chair and the unmistakable sound of a zipper being drawn. He steeled himself, wiping any of the lingering shock from his features in favor of the usual indifference he reserved for dealing with his insufferable kin. Pushing the rest of his way into the chasm of an office, he declared loudly with a hint of sarcasm, “Mission accomplished, boss. As usual.”

Jack glanced up, a rude retort undoubtedly on his lips at the abrupt intrusion, but he stopped short, crossed his arms, and gave him a long, searching look.

Timothy gave nothing away and instead arched his brow expectantly. “I better get more than usual for this one. I went to the art show to stare at weird splashes of color and squiggly lines for three hours, and I ended up with a date to the opera with an old lady covered in fake animal fur. I don’t like opera. In fact, I  **hate**  it.”

“ _Tim-Tams_ ,” Jack began, the condescension which Timothy hated more than fingernails grating on a chalkboard clear in his tone, “you’re paid to act like me in public, right? That means ya make your best judgments for anything that comes your way based on how ya think I’d act. You don’t like it? Then don’t friggin’ do it. It’s actually a…  _real_  simple concept.”

“Normally, I would. But her son apparently owns large shares in the company—which she told me five times before the art show started,” Timothy argued, “so I acted tactfully and avoided a huge conflict that could’ve negatively impacted the company. That at least deserves a couple thousand more, yeah?  _At least_.”

“C’mon, we both know hookers don’t cost a fraction of that.” Jack’s smirk was poisonous.

“I don’t need hookers,  _Jackie_.” He sneered. “I know it might be hard for you to understand, but a man can get laid without having to use money. Careful, don’t want the steam from your brain struggling to comprehend that to mess up your hair.”

“Oh-ho. So Timmy has jokestoday, does he? Seems like he forgot the most important rule of negotiation,” Jack retorted smoothly as he waited for the question Tim would undoubtedly have no choice but to ask—if he wanted any chance of being appropriately dismissed, that is.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot in annoyance as the businessman literally waited for his reply, Tim regrettably forced himself to cave as he inquired warily, “And what rule is that?”

The growing smirk on Jack’s lips threatened to split his face in its intensity. “Avoid making enemies.” Watching his younger sibling’s eyes roll predictably at his answer, he shrugged his shoulders and dismissed him with, “Anyway, stop by my secretary on your way out. She’s got some shit organized for ya next week.”

“About my extra couple thousand…”

“Get outta here already. You’ll get what I give ya,” Jack commanded firmly. “And stop seducin’ old broads for their money—you already earn enough. How ‘bout’cha be fair to yourself and aim lower next time, maybe in the fifties range?”

“Hey, it’s your face, too,” Timothy called over his shoulder as he stalked back the way he came, seething. Once again, his resolve was broken. It was amazing the effect Jack had on his self-control. “So what does that say about  _you?_ ”

“It’s not the face, Tim. It’s the attitude. Get better at actin’, and it’ll make sense eventually.”

The younger sibling flipped him the middle finger in response, unable to come up with anything witty enough before the door swung shut behind him. He really,  _really_  loathed his brother sometimes.

 

* * *

 

Pulling at his collar, self-consciously adjusting it a final time before the elevator doors parted to let him exit, Rhys stepped out with purpose in his stride—or he tried to, anyway. He nearly stumbled two steps out, having caught in his peripheral vision how a pair of his coworkers suddenly stopped in mid-chat to eye him oddly. His stomach plummeted to his feet at the sight.

_...Do they know?_

They offered no explanation for their interest, instead just staring at him for a moment before gradually returning to their previous conversation with shared, relaxed grins.

Rhys felt his insides churning with additional stress as he made the longest walk in his life to the moderate privacy of his cubicle. Everyone in his path kept turning to watch his progress, pausing with a silence he couldn’t understand. Some were even going out of their way to point at him, gathering others to look and making a complete spectacle out of him. He refused to tremble in front of them, as agitated as he was that his mind-blowing encounter in the elevator was already being soured by the prying eyes of his nosy coworkers.

Who did they think they were? When was it ever considered polite to point and stare?

Finally reaching his chair, Rhys collapsed into it before sliding himself in as tight as possible to remove himself from those heavy, judging stares. Something must have went wrong. Fake Jack lied to him. He must have. Why else would everyone be acting like this?

Rhys pulled his tie taut before quickly rising to cast a glare over the wall of his cubicle, which caused a few rubber-neckers to duck out of sight and hide. Did his…  _excursion_ get broadcasted somehow? He masturbated in front of a  _camera,_ for crying out loud. His personal voyeur had promised he didn’t record the very private show, but obviously the word of a total stranger held no weight.

The salesman felt compelled to simply walk out and never look back. He was probably on the express train to unemployment considering the growing whispers surrounding him. His own whispered name consistently burned his perked ears, and it only worsened his expectations.

That was… until he noticed the foreign notepad sitting innocently on the surface of his desk. His heterochromatic eyes narrowed at the suspicious item before sliding it closer. Lifting the first few pages and skimming them, Rhys’s eyebrows arched with surprise, and his scathing thoughts ground to a halt and flitted away, leaving him feeling lighter with his relief.

It appeared that the pretender had kept his word after all, and he had done so far beyond Rhys’s original expectations. The teleworker had needed numbers for the week, but now he had them for  _months_. A small jolt of excitement coursed through him.

Did this guy expect to keep this ‘transaction’ of theirs up for the long haul? Rhys found himself tasting his lips with a swipe of his tongue out of both silent apprehension and subtle desire. Should he really be playing with fire like this? What if the real Handsome Jack discovered what was happening right beneath his nose?

Rhys rolled his eyes at that as he returned to work.  _As if_  the real one would ever find out, as busy as he always was. If anything, the incident would squeak by on rusty wheels through the mind-numbingly tedious bureaucratic process and end up buried on his desk in a year, if lucky.

He wasn’t concerned, and if he was being truthful to himself… there was something undeniably pleasurable about breaking the rules.

 

* * *

 

After a few hours of haggling, coaxing, and even flirting, Rhys had fulfilled his quota for the day. Stretching his arms up over his head with a few satisfying pops of his joints, Rhys leaned back in his seat, feeling rather victorious despite the surreality of the situation. The voyeur event in the elevator felt so far away now, as if simply an erotic dream forgotten upon waking.

Oddly enough, Rhys honestly felt a little disappointed. The stranger had seemed determined to make them…  _a_   _thing_ , but he was still here in the office and about to undergo his typical going-home routine. Pushing out of his chair and eyeing the rest of the office, he noted it was dimly lit by computer screens and few overhead lights, as most everyone had already gone home for the Friday evening.

That was right. Today was Friday, which meant…

Rhys sighed to himself, realizing both Vaughn and Yvette were busy. However, as he pondered a little more—would he even be able to discuss with them what had happened? They probably wouldn’t believe him, as insane as it sounded. Or worse… they  _would_  believe it and suddenly begin to think differently of him, their conservative friend who only went out on a handful of dates before spending a few steady years with his now ex-girlfriend, Stacy.

Then a sudden thought struck him with greater dread.

What if they advised him to stop? He knew he would have to honor his long-time friends’ wishes if they insisted on it, as he realized how disturbing the situation might sound to an outsider, but… this felt like the closest he’d been to a real thrill in his life since his college years. Nonetheless, he could already hear Yvette snipping about serial killers and torture basements, while Vaughn would go on about the statistics of losing his job for a cheap fantasy.

Heaving a deep breath, Rhys packed away his things and gathered his briefcase and jacket, heading for the elevator. He desperately needed to unwind, and it was a pity he had no one to accompany him—or so he thought, before he stepped out and noticed Fiona seated casually in the lobby. He called out her name curiously, slowing his pace once he approached her.

The woman raised her gaze from her phone, smirking as she realized who had caught her attention. “Rhys! Just the guy I wanted to see.”

That pleasantly surprised him. “Uh… you did?”

She stood up quickly, alarming the poor man as they almost collided due to the proximity of their bodies when she stepped forward.

Personal space wasn’t an observed practice in her book, apparently, but he amended it discreetly, shuffling the slightest bit back.

“Yeah, you’ve been looking pretty down today. Plus, I wanna properly thank you for helping me out the other day. So wanna go grab a drink with me?”

It was funny how the world worked in such mysterious, coincidental ways.

Normally, Rhys would have politely declined. He didn’t enjoy mixing work with pleasure, but something within him, perhaps awakened in light of his new penchant for adventure, insisted he swallow his gentle rejection and give it a shot—or three, which was what he later ended up ingesting a little too quickly despite Fiona’s attempts to pace him.

“Whoa, whoa! I figured you had a rough day, but I didn’t think it was  _this_  bad.”

Among the bustling chatter of the smoky bar he found himself in, Rhys groaned as the alcohol hit him hard. He’d be fine; he just needed another drink. He signaled the bartender rather impatiently.

“So…” Fiona started almost coyly, “did you get a sugar daddy-slash-mama or something?”

In the process of chugging down his fourth shot, Rhys nearly spewed it across the bar.

As he was coughing, Fiona quirked her brow at him while she spun the toothpick from her own glass. “I’m kidding, you know. Everyone’s been wondering where you got that sweet Hyperion headset.”

That’s when it sunk in.  **That’s**  why everyone had been staring. It was his  _headset._  He had forgotten about it in the aftermath of his most recent encounter with his mysterious admirer, and it hadn’t occurred to him that it was a very uncommon sight on his department floor, mostly reserved for executives as it was. “Um, well… I just got picked, you know?”

“For what? You sign up for a contest or something?”

“Not really... More like, uh, a random company raffle.”

“Really?” She frowned, miffed. “Well, I never heard about it.”

“Um, same here.” Rhys laughed nervously, completely unwilling to tell his coworker the true story of his debauchery. He wasn’t particularly eager to learn what her reaction would be. It wasn’t a flattering story, considering he was only a few steps away from a well-compensated prostitute.

“Huh.” She decided to leave it at that and abruptly switched gears. “Oh, hey, did you hear about what happened in the elevator? Apparently we have a ‘phantom fapper’ on the loose.”

Again, Rhys nearly choked, this time on his courtesy glass of water, which elicited a firm series of pats on the back from Fiona’s hand.

“Hey, hey, easy there! I know; it surprised just about everyone. I think that guy Vasquez found it first. But you know what? I think he’s the one who did it.”

“Oh…” Rhys gingerly swallowed another gulp of water to soothe his burning throat. “Why do you say that?”

“I mean, he slipped in it.” She snickered heartily. “But c’mon. You do something like that, of course you’re gonna try and cover your tracks by seeming like the victim.”

“...He slipped in it?” That was an unsavory mental image, to say the least, but he acquiesced that it was nothing less than the cruel man deserved. He slowly relaxed and allowed some wry humor to quirk his lips.

“Yeah. I can’t believe you missed it. You would’ve loved to see the look on his face. Or  _Henderson’s_. Ohhh, that was priceless!” She dissolved into a fit of laughter, gaining a few sidelong glances from the other bar patrons, before downing the remainder of her cocktail. Once she calmed, she inquired rather flippantly, “So you going to the party on Sunday?”

Rhys had forgotten about the company party that weekend. As frequent as they were, he’d never attended one and had no intention to break that streak now. But before he could express this, he paused and reconsidered it. Before tonight, he had never gone out for a drink with a coworker, and he actually found himself enjoying it. Would it hurt him to attend it just once in order to see what it was like? Nowadays, he was feeling a new sense of confidence and, strangely invigorated, decided it was time to break out of his shell a little bit. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spycethra:** Ever wanted to have phone sex during a cheesy company party? Rhys is about to. Oh hohoho. Thanks for sticking with us guys! You're magnificent!
> 
>  **WickedIntentions:** Yeaaah, it's my fault this chapter was so delayed, and I'm sorry for that. I have _a few_ too many projects at the moment. Hee hee. But as my co-writer just informed you, the next chapter shall be extra kinky, so allow that to comfort you while you wait.  
>  Stay lovely, friends.
> 
> -  
> Interested in chatting? You can find Spycethra on Tumblr [here](http://spycethra.tumblr.com/).


End file.
